


Easy as Pie

by Dameceles



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cooking, Developing Friendships, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Mentioned Blue Lions Students (Fire Emblem), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:07:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26207644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dameceles/pseuds/Dameceles
Summary: Dedue wants to bake a Fearghus style pie.  He doesn't know how, so gets some help from the Blue Lion’s resident confectionery expert.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Dedue Molinaro, Mercedes von Martritz & Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	Easy as Pie

**Author's Note:**

> It’s Dedue’s bday and though I’m late, I made a lil cooking fic. Warning for Dedue having to deal with in-setting racism and micro-aggressions, the aim was to be friendship fluff but I can't not worldbuild it seems.

Dedue remembered how Fhirdiad castle’s head cook wouldn't allow Dedue into the kitchens unaccompanied. Ever since the elderly man, who had surprisingly keen hearing, had caught him trying to borrow a jar of honey to sweeten Dimitri’s tea, he had forbidden his free movement within his domain. When Dedue had first arrived there he’d merely been passably fluent in Fodlan’s language, unable to smoothly explain the misunderstanding, and the head cook had taken to brandished a long spoon of hard wood whenever Dedue tried to enter without one of the kitchen maids or scullery boys.

Living in the heart of Fhirdiad castle had meant if people saw Dedue, they saw a man from Duscur, and that they tended to watch him akin to the manner in which mother hens eyed foxes. The kitchens were rather cramped and crowded with moving bodies, smells, and heat as it was; which made it improbable for someone his stature and size to easily slip in and out, let alone undetected. During those years he’d tried focusing on being small, on being unnoticed, insignificant, forgotten… though this never quite worked. Only under Dimitri’s attention and gaze had he felt comfortable enough to be seen and not be judged wanting.

It was both different and the same living at Garreg Mach. A majority of the monks, nuns, and knights watched him with that same hawkish gaze as the castle inhabitants, yet a handful regarded him with the indifference due to strangers and a few retained kindness in their eyes. It was difficult to let his guard down, but His Highness seemed happier here and their classmates were unobjectionable overall. More personally, he had less reason to need to sneak around. Unlike the castle, Dedue was not only permitted to enter the kitchens freely but was also permitted to cook there even when not assigned duties.

Which was why, and after doing a quick check and watering of plants in the greenhouse, he had headed for the dining hall’s kitchens knowing they’d not turn him away— though he hadn’t expected to meet a familiar face there.

“Oh hello, Dedue! You’re up early this morning.”

A soft smile lit up the pretty young woman’s face as she stood at a table in the middle of peeling apples, Mercedes looked genuinely happy to see him. Her long strands of mousey brown hair were gathered at the nape of her neck in a tight bun that wagged like a dog's tail when her head moved. Although her skin was pale like most native to southern Fodlan the shade was tanned slightly darker from toiling under the sun, something he’d heard was undesirable for nobleborn women but found fetching himself. Those dark blue eyes held no meanness whenever she regarded him, and that was still a sight Dedue was growing accustomed to.

Lost in his thoughts he’d been staring, and it must’ve been obvious from an edge her smile gained as she asked, “I’ve got kitchen duty today. What’re you doing here?”

Mentally shaking himself, Dedue answered, “I’m here to…” Even after multiple years, sometimes the correct Foldan word evaded him. It was an awkward moment before he recalled the correct one. “Bake a Fodlan sweet, to gift.”

Mercedes’s smile brightened as he finished. “Oh, I can help you with that! Since you want to carry it out, a desert easy to eat by hand so things don’t get messy would be best. How about cookies?”

It was a strange thing to hear her say, when almost all the meals Dedue could recall having eaten at home in Duscur were by hand and had never caused messes. But Fodlan was not the same, always individual plates and many eating utensils rather than shared bowls to dip in. Formal dishes eaten away from those dining tables wasn’t feasible, yet something as small as cookies wouldn’t do for his plans. So, he countered, “I’d like to make something more substantial. Do you know anything suitable?”

This time she nodded as her expression grew thoughtful. “We’ve enough time to bake a pie before class starts. If they’re small enough to fit in the hand, they can be eaten anywhere.”

Pies, a Fodlan confection baked in a stove that was made of crust and filling. He didn’t quite know the steps in crafting one, but it’d suit his purposes well. This gift had to be made by him, or it wouldn't be right, but he’d need help. So Dedue nodded and asked, “That’d suffice. Would you be able to assist me?”

Once again Mercedes beamed, agreed, put down the pushing aside the fruit knife, and proceeded to gather up the apple skins and wedges of fruit. As she did this, Dedue washed his hands and put on an apron— white, newly washed, ready to be stained by working hands. He took a moment to retie his hair, ensuring it was gathered tight, before joining his classmate at her newly cleaned corner of the counter.

The dining hall kitchens were buzzing and busy as usual, but the cooks were accustomed to having a student or two assigned for duties this kept a cleared space for them and their work. Nothing was piled there, the head chef thought that'd only lead to messes, but Mercedes swiftly brought over all sorts of bowls, forks, spoons, and even the Leicester invention of whisks— wires bunched, spun through ingredients to add air. She listed different ingredients for him to get, what they were and how many, and as soon as he had brought over the eggs, Mercedes cracked them open into a bowl, set the emptied shells aside, and proceeded to stir them with the whisk. 

Other things Dedue brought to their corner: milk, flour, sugar, butter, salt. Not too much, just what they needed and the cook never lifted her spoon at him for taking them. Mercedes added them all to the bowl that held the eggs, sometimes two at a time, and they steadily melded into something different altogether. 

"This is the dough that'll make the crust." She told him. Then held out the bowl. "Want mix it?"

Gingerly, Dedue took the bowl and grabbed the whisk's handle. It took more effort than he would've thought to stir the dough— heavy, thick, resisting his movement like packed earth does if not pressed right with his spade —but he had watched how Mercedes had rotated her hand, her arm and mimicked. It wasn't so hard after that, though still took muscle. After a while his classmate stopped his stirring. She removed the whisk, using a fork to dislodge the dough stuck within the wires, then sprinkled the table top with a handful of flour; dusting it across its surface with her free hand. The dough was then dumped from the bowl onto the floured table and she began to dig her fingers and palms into it, rolling and flattening.

The grain of wheat was Fodlan’s staple crop, used in main and side dishes alike. Duscur had a similar staple of chickpeas which he hadn’t had access to in years, but watching Mercedes it was evident she knew how work finely ground wheat flour and how to properly stoke the closed wood-burning ovens. Dedue was still mastering the differences from the flatbreads and the vertical stoves of Duscur. Unlike many of the other kitchen aides who threw him looks of fear or suspicion, Mercedes focused almost entirely on their work, making the task go efficiently. 

"Why don't you choose a tin for this to go into?" Mercedes bobbed her head in the direction of the shelves, lined with all sorts of metal containers. 

Dedue went over, but unlike earlier wasn't certain what to take. He didn't want to interrupt the kitchen staff’s breakfast preparations and draw attention by causing trouble, which had him dithering. Yet it seemed he’d taken too long as a voice called behind him, “Hey, what’re you doing here?”

Looking over his shoulder, he found a boy with black hair cover by a handkerchief, skin a bronzed brown that marked him as Almyran. It was a face Dedue had seen before, Cyril was his name, and the moment he took to recall resulted in a furrowed brow. Then the boy snapped, “You’re not scheduled for duties, why’re you in the kitchen?”

“Baking sweets.” Dedue managed, wondering what’d he done to draw Cyril’s ire. “What tin is for pies?”

Cyril’s brow crumpled in confusion, then he sighed and elbowed by him to get to the shelves. Dedue began to apologize but he just shook his head— then picked out a round container made of thin metal and handed it over with a miffed look. Dedue tried to apologize again and the boy snapped that it was _fine_ , which got a shout out of the cook for them to both get back to work that sent them both scurrying. From the sudden blush on his face Cyril was more frazzled than angry, so Dedue put it out of his mind.

Mercedes laughed quietly as he set the tin onto the table then asked him to flour the tin. Dedue had to keep his voice even as he admitted, "I don't know how." 

The former Adrestian just smiled and told him to take a pinch of flour from the bag, put it in the tin, then spread it around with his fingers so that it covered all of the insides. Dedue did as she said, and it wasn't difficult when he knew where to move it. Once finished Mercedes thanked him then pulled the tin in close so that she could place the dough— spread far and thin, delicate like a giant flower's petal —over the shape and pressed until it stuck to the sides. After handing him a small knife she asked him to cut the extra off, make round match round. This he did quickly, enough so that she looked surprised. 

Dedue set the knife down, and asked, "How much will fit inside?"

"Well..." There was a cough to cover laughter. "What sort of pie do you want to make? The tin is a modest size, so we can't overstuff it or it will overflow and burn."

Garreg Mach had a plethora of ingredients, but with this dish Dedue found himself uncomfortably unfamiliar. So he turned to his cooking partner’s expertise. "What sorts of pie are good?" 

Mercedes hummed over the question, the rattled off the options: tart cherries, sugary pecans, smooth eggs, savory meats. The variety was almost too much, he’d asked the wrong question and had to keep from sighing. Yet she spoke before he could try asking again. "It really comes down to personal taste. However, this is your first time baking one so let's choose for something easy." She called over the kitchen's din at the cook and pointed to a pile of pears. The middle-aged woman held up four fingers then waved and turned back to her task.

Dedue carefully plucked up four pears and brought them to Mercedes without being asked. She cut one in half from top to bottom, coring it and removing the stem, then asked him to do the same to the other and skin the eight halves. Mercedes ducked around him gracefully, and talked to the kitchen maid manning grates and pots in the glowing fireplace. Out of the corner of his eye he saw them nod and come to some sort of an agreement. Then she plucked up a small, nearby pot and briskly circled the kitchen for new ingredients: pouring in a heaping of sugar, a stick of cinnamon, whole cloves, and finally part of a bottle of wine. With those collected and combined, the young woman handed the half full pot back to the maid who set it on an iron hook near the fire.

Dedue turned fully to the pears, now both halved and partially skinned, concentrating so that he'd be done by the time she stood next to him. He was quick with knives. Rather than looking alarmed Mercedes nodded her approval, surprised in a better way than previous. With eight pear half in each hand they took them over and placed the cut fruit into the simmering pot. 

"It won't take much for the pears to get tender." They went back to their corner, Dedue shortening his stride to keep pace with Mercedes' shorter gait. She spoke as they walked, "Once cooled we can place the pears, strain the syrup into the crust, and bake the pie. Now is when we prepare the topping."

The topping was delicate compared to the mixing of the dough. Sugar, butter, and rosewater all in small portions; poured together in a shallow bowl then left to settle. In the little time that took the pears were ready, the kitchen maid waving at Mercedes. Dedue offered to bring it over and Mercedes nodded, turning instead to grab more utensils. With a long spoon and cheesecloth everything proper was placed from the pot into the crust, then one of the resident bakers graciously took it to the ovens for them.

"They probably don't want us letting all the heat out with our guessing.” Mercedes explained when Dedue hesitate in handing the pies over. “Best let them handle the timing.”

With a nod, he handed them over, then the moved the dirtied utensils to the wash station and cleaned up the workspace. Once finished Mercedes suggested a breath of fresh air and they slipped outside the increasingly stifling kitchens to wait with the refreshing breeze in the courtyard. Mercedes coaxed Dedue to sit beside her, to talk, her eyes were kind as she smiled. "When I’ve seen you in the kitchens, are you cooking for yourself?"

Dedue rubbed his fingertips together, feeling flour grains now sticky with pear juice under his nails. "Not for myself."

“Then you must enjoy cooking, since you’re in the kitchen more than even me.”

“It is familiar.” In truth he found more peace in the gardens when no other people were around. The way the young woman was peering at him, seemed like she expected more of an answer, so Dedue deflected by asking, “Isn’t it peculiar for a lady such as yourself to work in the kitchens when it’s not assigned to you?”

Mercedes's spine snapped straight at his words, a heavy blush spreading across her nose and over her face. "Oh my! I… I suppose I’m not truly a lady." His own posture stiffened at her words and offended tone, but she continued before he could find the right phrasing for a response. “It’s true in Adrestia it'd be scandalous for me to work in the kitchens, but my mother knew how to bake and taught me. Since coming to Faerghus I’ve always worked in kitchens, it’s something I know how to do and enjoy. Is that so wrong?”

“…my apologies, Mercedes,” he said, quietly.

With a hand raised to her red cheeks Mercedes heaved a sigh. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so thin-skinned like that. Dedue, it’s not your fault.”

Mercedes's face was flushing ever redder as the words were said, but what bothered him more was how she’d averted her gaze. To not see those kind-hearted eyes bothered Dedue more than he might’ve guessed. So he thought hard on the right words before saying, “It is difficult, to be treated as an outsider in places one finds comfortable.”

Those words had Mercedes raising her eyes and meeting his own, the embarrassment leaving her face for sympathy. “Yes, it is. Though was this morning with me difficult?”

He shook his head. “I am learning to be comfortable with you.”

“I’m glad!” A soft smile curved her lips. “Do you need both pies? I’d love to taste and know how they turned out.” 

“I only require one. Please keep the extra for yourself.”

“Oh, thank you! But it’d be much more fun to share the pies. Perhaps if I slice it thin enough, the whole class can taste?” She breezily suggested, and Dedue found he couldn’t muster any objections.

Their banter after that was harmless and companionable. Although they were strangers only recently turned acquaintances, he truly was beginning to feel that there wasn’t a need to hide himself from Mercedes’ kind eyes. Once the pies had been removed from the oven did a kitchen maid call them back in and Mercedes determined it’d be best to leave them on a rack to cool until after breakfast— which was nearly to begin.

They’d already edged over to the doorway, with her inside while he lingered outside. He took off the apron and handed it to Mercedes as she spoke, “I need to stay and help serve, but you should get going. I can wrap and bring the pies to class, if you’d like.”

“That would be appreciated.” He noticed how the kitchen had grown even busier, more glances from the staff telling him they’d be bothered if he remained. But he couldn’t resist meeting those dark blue eyes on last time as he said, “Thank you for this morning.”

“I enjoyed it! See you in the classroom,” She breezed and ducked back into the kitchen.

Breakfast was the usual affair, the other Blue Lion students chattering while eating as Dedue partook and covertly monitored just how much of the food Prince Dimitri left untouched. However, part-way through the prince tapped his glass and spoke once the others had hushed. The glance those bright blue eyes leveled at him, had Dedue sitting up and going tense as all other eyes also looked in their direction.

“Today is a very special day for one student in our house. To celebrate the occasion, I’d requested something just as special be prepared by the kitchens.”

At the tail end of his words, Cyril had navigated the long tables towards them with a laden tray. Astonished by what he saw there, Dedue glanced at the prince who smiled widely back. “I hope today is the happiest of days, my friend.”

With only a wry glance of his own, Cyril balanced the tray with one hand and set on the table before him a tiered and iced cake, the sort Dedue had only seen before from afar at ceremonial feasts. The sight of it, of being announced, left Dedue in a daze, only to be knocked from it when a second desert was set before him— a pear pie with single thin slice missing and a scrap of paper tucked along the tin.

 _Happy birthday._ The note read in a quickly jotted scrawl. No signature included, but none was needed. Dedue smiled, accepted the well-wishes of his classmates, and cut a slice of each for himself.


End file.
